


Weathering the storm

by Directionless_Foray



Series: InSignificance [3]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M, boys being shit with their feelings, here it is, minimal swearing, mostly mesut though, the last part
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-20
Updated: 2014-08-20
Packaged: 2018-02-14 01:14:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2172405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Directionless_Foray/pseuds/Directionless_Foray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>warmth</p><p>Pronunciation: /wɔːmθ<br/>NOUN</p><p>1. The quality, state, or sensation of being warm; moderate heat:<br/>The warmth of the sun on his skin.</p><p>2. Enthusiasm, affection, or kindness:<br/>He smiled with real warmth.</p><p>(oxforddictionaries.com)</p><p>Maybe he is still scared. Maybe he's still unsure. Maybe he's too far gone. </p><p>...</p><p>Maybe he's in love.<br/>(Maybe he's loved)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Weathering the storm

**Author's Note:**

> Well this was exhausting. I hope you like this, I'm not too sure about the timeline (neither are Cris and Mes to be honest) but I'm really pleased with this. I'm considering writing a separate series for this I dunno. This is all a figment of my wistful imagination. Oh and a MASSIVE and GIANT thank you for all the feedback and kudos thus far :)

**warmth**

Pronunciation: /wɔːmθ

NOUN

1\. The quality, state, or sensation of being warm; moderate heat: _The warmth of the sun on his skin._

2\. Enthusiasm, affection, or kindness: _He smiled with real warmth._

(oxforddictionaries.com)

Mesut wakes up first. He feels warm, content and _loved_. God he hasn’t felt like that in so long. He blinks and closes his eyes and feels like he’s floating, floating on a cloud of positive energy. Cris lies beside him snoring softly, which he will no doubt deny to the grave when he wakes up.

When he wakes up.

A sudden jarring thought occurs to him, _what if it was all a mistake?_ What if Cris, _oh Cris, always Cris,_ what if he regretted it? Should he leave, make a sneaky escape. Perhaps he could grab his shorts and just make a run for it. Cris wasn’t normally very alert in the morning, Mesut smiles fondly, he could make it, his resolve hardened.

Sudden movement startles Mesut, Cris snuggles into Mesut’s side. “I missed you,” he mumbles, Mesut wouldn’t be able to hold back his affectionate smile if he tried. His chest feels tight as he fights tears, “I missed you,” the words he had been too afraid to admit he wanted, _no **needed**_ , to hear, Cris had repeated those very words so many times that night, or morning, god Mesut had no idea. Still, Mesut allows those words to sink in, soothing the aches and cracks still left over on his heart. He can’t help it when one hand reaches over to gently stroke Cris lip. Cris stirs and smiles contentedly, that same smile morphs into a cheeky smirk when he lazily quips, “you can touch my lips with more than just your fingers you know.”

Mesut rolls his eyes, typical, “you’re awfully observant when you’re still half asleep.”

“I’m awfully-” Cris yawns and opens his eyes to wink lazily at Mesut, “-in love with you.”

The straight-forwardness of Cris words catches Mesut off guard. He ducks his head, “y-you, love me?”

Cris props himself up on his elbows, he looks more alert, he’s woken up now, “was I not clear enough when I repeatedly admitted it last night?”

“It may have still been this morning actually-”

“And you’re missing the point.” Mesut looks up from his hands. Cris presses his nose into Mesut’s neck and Mesut shivers. Cris pushes him down and hovers over him with an incredulous smile on his face and without any warning presses his lips to Mesut’s neck and proceeds to nibble and suck on the skin just behind Mesut’s ear. Mesut realises he is holding his breath. He’s feeling lightheaded. Before he actually blacks out Cris whispers into his ear, “would you like me to spell it out for you? I love you.”

Mesut nods, affirmation, reciprocation, peace.

This, Mesut thinks to himself, is probably what _significant_ feels like.

 

Fin. 

 

_Bonus: What's the plan? How about breakfast?_

 

"You leave tonight don't you?" Mesut asks quietly.

"Yes." Cris is staring at the ceiling. Mesut can see the lovebites he left snaking up from his collarbone to his neck. He's going to get asked questions, fuck. It seemed like a good idea at the time, marking Cristiano as his own, now not so much. Mesut is beginning to realise rationality isn't something he can apply when dealing with Cris.

"I wish you could stay."

"So do I," Cris turns the full force of his eyes on Mesut and he can see the pain in them. "You have to promise me something though."

"What?"

"You have to win this damn thing," Cris' face splits into a giant grin. Mesut can't help doing the same.

"Is it because you'd look bad otherwise?" 

Cris feigns outrage but then bursts into laughter, "fuck no, haven't you heard?" He wiggles his eyebrows and Mesut laughs as well. "I'm the best."

Mesut't heart feels as if it will burst, it's just _so full._ "Don't worry, I came to win. I've just happened to win something more valuable along the way."

Cris' eyes widen, and then his expression softens into something painfully affectionate, "you never lost it."

Mesut can't process the implication of Cris' words. So he just smiles softly. Cris, the sap, twines his fingers into Mesut's and smiles goofily at Mesut.

In the comfortable silence reality kicks in, so naturally Mesut freaks out, "what about today, tonight, what about tomorrow, _god Cris_ , what about after that."  

Cris' hand tightens, "tomorrow I'll go on holiday, then you win the cup, then you join me, then I kidnap you and the cup to Spain, then I persuade you to stay with good food, good sex and good football." 

"I don't think we get to keep the cup."

"Already thought you won it? Just because we went easy on you?"

"Pfft yeah right, plus I thought you were going to show me good sex, seems to be all empty promises so far." Cris punches Mesut's shoulder playfully. "Seriously Cris, what's the plan though?"

"Don't you get it Mesut," Cris is shaking his head, "there doesn't need to be a plan, there just needs to be me and you, that's all. If you really need a plan here is one, first breakfast and then..." 

Mesut looks into Cris' eyes, "then?"

"Then, forever." 

And if Mesut is being honest with himself, it sounds like a perfect plan.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts? Suggestions? Things you didn't like? Spelling errors? *nervous laughter*


End file.
